After The Fires Went Out: Coyote atfwo-1

by Regan Wolfrom

  We turned the bend and I saw the gray truck. And two more of them, three in total, each with a snow-covered tarp wrapper over the guns in the back.

  “There’s three of them?” Lisa said. “What the hell?”

  “Shit,” I said. “Turn us around, Graham.”

  “Hold on,” he said. “It’s not easy…”

  “Come on…turn us around…”

  I reached behind the cab and pulled out the guitar case. I laid it out on my lap.

  “There’s no time,” Lisa said.

  I opened the case and pulled out a magazine. I grabbed the C12 and snapped in the ammo, and then I aimed it out the window.

  Lisa reached over and pressed the button to open it.

  They shot first. I couldn’t see from where.

  I aimed for the front window and started shooting.

  “Hold on,” Graham said as he started to turn the truck.

  I heard the wheels spinning.

  “Shit,” Graham said. It had to be bad if he was swearing. “We’re stuck.”

  “Holy fucking shit,” Lisa said. “This is a goddamn nightmare. What do we do?”

  “We shoot,” I said. “We shoot and we hope Graham can get us moving again.”

  I heard the sound of bullets slamming against the side of the truck; we had our helmets and armour, but they weren’t foolproof. And the boys in the back didn’t have anything.

  I hoped to hell they stayed low.

  I emptied my first thirty and reloaded. I only had eight mags total. Only seven left. I kept firing. I had to pin them inside the cottage until Graham could have us moving again.

  The wheels spun some more.

  “You’re digging us deeper,” Lisa said. “You don’t even know how to drive in snow.”

  “I’m doing my best,” Graham said.

  “It’s not good enough.”

  “It’s not the tires…it’s the plow…it’s stuck in the snowbank. I can’t get it out.”

  “What does that mean?” She was almost screaming at him.

  “We’ll have to dig it out.”

  “Do we even have any goddamn shovels?”

  “What if we removed the plow?” I asked.

  I had to reload again.

  “I can remove it,” Graham said. “Take me thirty seconds or so. Then I’ll give the bumper a shove and we should be able to get out.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said. Out of habit, mostly.

  “No…I’m faster. I’ve got my gear on…I’ll be alright.”

  Graham opened the door and climbed out, with Lisa taking his place. I ramped up the firing as he got into position; he was mostly covered by the engine block.

  There was a good chance he’d be able to pull it off.

  He threw his gloves off into the snow and pulled at the plow, disconnecting the hitches and moving on to the wires.

  I reloaded again.

  “Start reversing,” Graham yelled.

  Lisa slammed on the gas. The wheels spun.

  “Hold on,” Graham said. He bent down and started digging into the snow with his bare hands, moving to the right.

  The engine block wouldn’t be covering him.

  I shoved two magazines into my pockets.

  I opened the door of the truck and jumped out, hoping to draw fire. I ran toward the back of the truck, firing as I went.

  Their bullets followed me.

  I felt a prick in my left leg. I kept moving.

  I turned the back corner and reloaded.

  “Baptiste,” Graham called. “Move out of the way.”

  I ran back in between the cottage and the truck, heading for the door. My left leg was slowing me down.

  I took another hit, in the side. The vest seemed to have stopped it.

  I climbed into the cab just as Lisa slammed on the gas.

  The truck rocked backward and soon pulled out of the snow.

  Lisa slammed on the brake.

  Graham made a run for the cab as I emptied another magazine.

  Lisa shoved herself against me as Graham climbed in.

  We were on our way.

  “Do you think they’ll follow?” Graham asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  I heard a tap on the back of the cab.

  “Sounds like they’re okay,” Lisa said.

  “Thank goodness,” Graham said.

  The knock came again. Harder.

  “We can’t stop now,” I said.

  “I know,” Graham replied.

  The road was poorly plowed, of course, but it was enough for us to get through in the one-ton gravel truck. We kept on past the first of the Walkers’ empty trailers, not stopping until we reached the second at Clute.

  I expected Zach and Sky to hop out and walk up to the door.

  They didn’t come.

  Instead there was another tap on the cab.

  I got out of the truck and walked over to the back, Lisa right behind me.

  Sky was lying in the truck bed, his foot kicking the cab, while his hands were gripping Zach’s chest.

  Lisa climbed into the back without a word.

  She threw off her jacket and tore one of the sleeves off her shirt.

  “Find the first aid kit,” she told me as she worked to stop the bleeding.

  I went back to the cab to get the kit.

  By the time I came back no one was hurrying.

  “He’s gone,” Lisa said.

  Zach Walker’s eyes were still open, staring at me.

  It reminded me of Ant.

  Sometimes the anxiety gets so bad that you feel like you’re not even able to breathe anymore, like the stress is actually going to kill you.

  I guess now that I’m over fifty and on heart pills for life, that stress might just finish the job.

  So tonight, just after ten, once Sara had fallen asleep, I took another tablet with the little maple leaf. I could say it was for the bullet hole in my leg that Lisa had half-heartedly patched up, but that was just an excuse.

  About forty minutes after I swallowed it, I went down and sat in the kitchen, in the dark. I didn’t want anyone to find me like that.

  When I was seven I got lost at Canada’s Wonderland. I remember being nervous at first, once I realized that my father had lost track of me. I stood under the Skyrider for what seemed like hours, watching the loop where the people strapped standing up would go completely upside-down, my little seven-year-old brain trying to figure out why there wasn’t a spray of coins and keys every time the roller coaster car would reach the top.

  And I wondered why no one had stopped to ask the little brown boy with the curly hair if he was lost; I’d been too scared to actually ask anyone for help.

  My father found me, and I think in the end I was only lost for twenty minutes or so. When he grabbed me by the shoulders and brought me in for a hug, I could see the absolute panic in his eyes. That was the first time I realized that my father could be afraid of something. It didn’t make me think of him as more human or more relatable; seven-year-old Baptiste thought his dad was just weak.

  There’s so much crap we wish we could take back, things we did or things we said…I wish I could take back how I felt about my father at that moment.

  I’ve known for a long time now that there’s nothing wrong with being scared. It’s been thirty-five years since I came back from the work in Panjwaii, and there are times when I’m still scared, when the weight of if comes back like I’m twenty years old all over again, on a mission that sounded noble but didn’t work out that great.

  I don’t remember what it’s like to not have that in me. When I try to remember being a kid and what that felt like, to be innocent and naive, the feelings I remember are from that day at Canada’s Wonderland, the fear of being lost forever and the shame of seeing my father afraid.

  When the light to the kitchen went on, I froze, as if I hoped that I wouldn’t be seen if I just…didn’t…move.

  “Why are you sitting in the dark?” Kayl
a asked me.

  “Migraine.”

  She walked over and leaned up against the table beside me. “Sara’s still up?”

  “Nope. I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes the yard light bothers me.”

  She walked over to the window and looked out. “The yard light isn’t on, Baptiste.”

  “Then I should head up to bed.”

  She smiled. “Or you can cut the bullshit.” She walked back to the table and sat down beside me.

  She put her hand on my lap and squeezed.

  “It’s okay, Baptiste,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”

  “Okay.”

  She nodded. “I’m not that good at this stuff. Would you like a handjob instead?”

  That made me laugh.

  “You seem off,” she said.

  “I’m tired…and shot…and I got someone killed today, so…”

  “Come on…”

  “I know…don’t blame myself and all that garbage.”

  She gave my thigh a tap. “That’s it,” she said. “You’re drunk.”

  “Do I smell like I’m drunk?”

  She took a whiff. “No…”

  “Am I slurring my words? Do I have a bottle of Jack in front of me?”

  “It’s something…”

  I wrapped my hand over hers. “Look, Kayla…I’m actually wanting to be alone.”

  “I don’t care. I’m here. So share whatever you’ve got or this will get way more awkward.”

  “It kinda feels like you’re hitting on me. Do I need to pull out my rape whistle?”

  “I think that’s a euphemism…I think you’re sexually harassing me…”

  “You’re the one with your hand on my thigh.”

  “You’re the one with the bulge in your pants.”

  I looked down and saw it. If I hadn’t already started feeling the effects of the E I would’ve been embarrassed.

  Kayla put her hand in my pocket.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Kayla…”

  I didn’t really want her to stop…

  “What is this?” she asked as she pulled out the plastic baggie. “Maple leafs…”

  “Vitamins.”

  “I’ve seen these before…hell…I’ve used these before.”

  “What?”

  “Seriously, Baptiste? You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “Kayla…you can’t tell anyone…”

  “Don’t worry. Where did you find these, anyway?”

  “Scavenging somewhere. I didn’t know what they were at first.”

  “And so what? You just decided to experiment?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She grinned. “You must realize, sir, that I have a rather highly tuned bullshit detector.”

  “They were Ant’s.”

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t care.”

  “Who did you get yours from?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “I mean from before.”

  She leaned in and whispered into my ear. “A little unbalanced, don’t you think? I show you mine and you give me fuck all?”

  “What did you want?”

  She squeezed my thigh again. “What do you think I want?”

  “Are you serious?”

  Kayla laughed. “You’re hilarious, Baptiste.” She gave me another slap on the thigh.

  “I don’t think I am.”

  She stood up from the chair. “Don’t get too high, alright?” She dropped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a pretty great guy, Baptiste.”

  I nodded. “And you have terrible judgement.”

  She started to walk toward the door, but then she stopped.

  “I got mine from Zach Walker,” she said. “We all did. Zach and his big brother.”

  “The Walkers are drug dealers?”

  “Some Walkers were. It’s a booming business, providing you have some initiative and the backing of the Souls.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  She smiled. “Toronto isn’t the only place with a drug problem. You’re not the first junkie in town.”

  Today is Friday, December 21st.

  Still snowing.

  Even if it wasn’t, I don’t think the Walkers would be up to working at Silver Queen Lake.

  Dave Walker’s son is dead, and it’s partly my fault.

  And the assholes who did it are a hell of a lot stronger than I’d realized.

  So I guess it’s completely my fault.

  This week’s meeting was set to be held at the Tremblays’; that was the last thing I wanted to do this morning.

  That’s just what I said to Sara when she woke me up.

  “You’re kidding me,” she said as she sat up in bed.

  “I’m not going,” I said, turning onto my side and away from her. I was acting like a child; I felt like a child.

  “I can’t believe I’m sleeping with a five-year-old.”

  “I’m just not ready for this.”

  She stood up and walked around to my side of the bed. “You’re coming with me, Baptiste.”

  “I’m not coming.”

  “We’re in crisis here. None of us have any idea what’s going to happen now. Don’t you think you oughta be at the freaking meeting?”

  “I’m not coming.”

  “Baptiste…”

  “I’m not coming.”

  “This is ridiculous. If you want to hide out here, go ahead. But I’m not going to cover for you. If people ask me why you can’t be bothered to show up and give some kind of guidance…or you know, leadership…I’m just going to tell them that you’re lying in bed like a sad little puppy.”

  “Thanks for nothing, then,” I said, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see the look on her face.

  “You’re disgusting.”

  I stayed in bed until I knew she’d left.

  Sara came back an hour or so later, and I was still in bed, half-awake.

  She stomped around the room a little, opening the blinds and making her side of the bed, all the things she does when she’s trying to get me to talk to her without, well, talking to me first.

  I didn’t take the bait, so she disappeared again, and by the time I went downstairs she wasn’t there.

  No one was.

  Lunch had been eaten and there were still dishes in the sink.

  I didn’t see anything left for me, but for all I knew it had been one of those single-serve, leftover lunches.

  I didn’t check the pile of dishes too closely; I didn’t want to find out that Fiona had made something fresh and no one had come to get me.

  Well…I guess Sara had come to get me…and stomped around…

  I found Kayla and Matt outside on the dock, dressed in full winter gear and sitting in snow, staring out over the wintry lake, an oversized bottle of spiced rum cupped into the snow between them.

  “Looking to freeze to death?” I asked Kayla.

  “It’s warm out, silly,” she said. “Are you still feeling sick?”

  “Sick?”

  “Sara said it was coming out of both ends,” Matt said.

  “We didn’t want that much information,” Kayla said.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Where is Sara?”

  Kayla shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

  “Thanks for the help.”

  I saw a series of footsteps heading over to the barn, so I followed them.

  Sara and Fiona were in the barn, Fiona sitting on a small step ladder while Sara brushed the mare.

  “Hey Baptiste,” Fiona said as I walked inside.

  Sara didn’t turn to look at me.

  “What are you guys doing?” I asked.

  “Sometimes it’s nice to get outside. You feeling better?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You should take a shower,” Sara said, still giving the horse her full attention.

  “What?” I said.

  “Whenever I’m starting to get better I make sure I wash up. It helps.”

  “I don’t nee
d a shower.”

  She put down the brush. “I’ll take you back,” she said.

  She walked right past me and out the door.

  “I think you’re supposed to go with her,” Fiona said with a grin.

  “I know.”

  I followed Sara back to the cottage, then up the stairs, and into the bathroom.

  She closed and locked the door behind me.

  She started to undress.

  “Aren’t you angry with me?” I asked.

  “I want to strangle you. Take off your clothes.”

  I hesitated.

  “Get naked,” she said.

  I did as she told me.

  She motioned for me to step into the bathtub, and she followed me in, standing between me and the tap. She turned on the water to the lower faucet and got it to her favoured temperature before she pulled the knob to bring it up to the showerhead.

  Like always, the water was too hot. Just like Sara liked it.

  Alanna had liked it hot, too.

  She handed me a bar of soap. “Do my back,” she said.

  I started lathering her shoulders.

  “You need to talk to Alain about his brother,” she said. “And you need to make a call to Dave Walker, offer your condolences for his son.”

  “You know I’m not ready for either of those.”

  “I don’t care. Make yourself ready. We need you to be ready.”

  “I’m not good right now, Sara.”

  I finished with the soap on her back and she turned to rinse herself off. Sara really is a beautiful woman. Too beautiful to be there with me.

  “I need you, Baptiste,” she said. “I can’t hold this family together without you.”

  “I’m the problem…I’m the reason things are falling apart. If I hadn’t got it in my head that I could take those guys out…if I hadn’t gone up to Silver Queen with the Porters…if I hadn’t killed Marc Tremblay…if I hadn’t left Ant to be murdered on the road…”

  My legs felt weak.

  I sat down in the tub.

  “This isn’t you,” Sara said. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with. You’re stronger than this, Baptiste. You’re not the type of man to let bad luck and a few accidents stop you in your tracks.”

  “You know what the worst part of this is?”

  “What?”

  “The way you all still delude yourselves into thinking that I’m some kind of leader.”

  “I’m not listening to this crap.” She stuck her head under the stream of hot water.

  It was probably the most wasteful shower she’s ever taken.